


Gods Will Bow.

by fearbehere



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Maybe a happy ending, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, No beta we die like l’manburg, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Tags might change, look i have no clue what i’m doing, sort of rivals to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:40:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29300541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearbehere/pseuds/fearbehere
Summary: Dream would go so far as to say godhood is boring, nowadays. He’s not allowed to mess with mortals, or play with them or kill them without purpose, anymore. Now there’s all these rules and all these expectations and gods are treated like they’re not more than mere celebrities.But then he strikes a deal with a half-god, half-prince that is just as bored with the monotony of tabloids and stupid drama as he is, and he decides to meddle.  Even if the other gods will be angry, even if he knows the rules say not to mess with human politics anymore. One last champion for him to back up. One last king for him to make, for old times sake.So what if, to manage a political coup, they have to pretend to be in love?This is definitely 100% only about bringing back old traditions and rebelling, and not at all to do with the fact that George is unbelievably pretty, and charming, and smart, of course.or, a dystopian au where Dream is a war god, George is a demigod prince and they, in their pursuit for power- still manage to fall in love.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 105





	1. A Cure for Boredom

**Author's Note:**

> this doesn't happen in the dreamsmp but is heavily inspired by it. the characterization is a mix of their real personalities and the dreamsmp character’s personalities, because i can. i am awful at technology but cyberpunk goes HARD so, you know.  
> if george or dream or anyone on this fic is uncomfortable with fanfic being written about them, i will take this down. also, please, please don't shove this fic into their faces. i don't really want them to see this.  
> i don't really know how ao3 works for authors cause the last time i wrote fanfic i published it on fanfiction.net so i'm really sorry if either my tagging is shit or if my writing is bad- i'm a little rusty. also english isn’t my first language so sorry for any mistakes!  
> also, thanks everyone on tumblr for motivating me to write this. this would be not written without your validation.  
> thank you to my main bitch sleep- i took your advice to heart, man.

_ Gods have been around for longer than anyone can remember. _

They were around when battles were fought with sweat and blood and steel. When men ruled the battlefield. They are around now that war means battle strategy gets leaked on the internet for the whole world to see. Now that battles are fought with androids and hacking and bombs that could wipe out all of humanity. 

They have watched it all happen, and, somewhere along the way, they gave up on battle at all. Humans create enough chaos without gods meddling into their business. What’s the point of having power over mortals, if there are no mortals to have power over?

Now most gods live among us, much more intimately intertwined with humanity than they ever have before. They’re celebrities, gaining worshippers with every follower on social media, every interview on national television, every new hit single released.

They let the media write articles on their personal lives, they let people discuss the most current drama regarding them, they let people see their problems and make them Friday night headlines. They let us forget what they really are. Immortal. All-powerful. Eternal. 

_ They let us believe loving a god could be anything other than painful. _

Dream isn’t like most gods. 

He remembers what it was like to march into war. He remembers what it was like to have kings under his control. He remembers what real worship was. What real power was.

He wants it back. He wants glory. He wants his worshippers to topple kingdoms in his name, not for them to daydream about kissing him. 

Well, actually, he might want both. 

That’s why he comes to these events. Galas might mean endless conversation with people Dream couldn’t care less about, but it also means attention. It means people see him and crave him, and he thrives in it, even though he would never admit it. He’s not as different from the other Gods as he claims to be. So he comes to the parties, even if he hates them.

Doesn't mean he can’t be a bitch about it, though. 

“This,” Dream says, waving around vaguely. He means the gala, the holograms, the string quartet playing. “is even more dull than I thought it would be.” 

Sapnap snickers, but doesn’t pay Dream much attention. He’s gotten used to his friends' moods by now, and would even go so far as to say they’re endearing. But he isn’t about to spend his entire night listening to Dream’s speeches about war and how much more  _ exciting  _ things used to be a couple hundred years ago. Honestly, he thinks Dream sounds like a cranky old man sometimes.

“I’m glad you’re having fun, Dream,” Sapnap puts a hand on his shoulder, giving it a little pat. Dream looks disgusted. “But I have bitches to go get. Hope you have a great time wallowing in your own misery!”

With that he turns around and walks towards a group of people, managing to leave Dream to wallow in his own misery pretty effectively. 

The place itself isn’t too bad. A huge ballroom in the top floor of a skyscraper, full white decoration, bright dazzling chandeliers, floor to ceiling windows and a stunning view to all of the city, shining bright in neon pinks and blues. 

Someone interrupts his looking around to come up and try to talk to him. It’s some celebrity or another, a hit-singer, an actor, a director- he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. They’re saying something but Dream soon decides they’re not interesting enough for even polite talk so he busies himself with counting how many glasses of champagne he can drink before he starts getting tipsy. The answer, it turns out, is a lot more than he can drink during a short conversation. Godhood grants many niceties and unfortunately for Dream, an insane alcohol tolerance is one of them. 

Dream looks down to the human and- _ Oh gods, they’re still talking _ . He tunes in for a second when he hears a compliment towards his appearance. He  _ does  _ look good. He’s wearing an all black designer suit and his signature green tie. He had a pretty girl make his hair look nice and put on green eyeshadow and eyeliner on his eyes. He has his nails painted black and green and, like all the other immortals on the gala, he’s wearing his ring- made out of  _ real _ metal, not whatever bullshit humans use nowadays- with a smiley face carved into it (it’s a relic of the olden days, when that smiley face struck fear into the eyes of whoever saw it. It’s been his brand for as long as he can remember). But then again, Dream always looks good. 

He’s getting tired of hearing them speak.

“I’m sorry,” Dream says, looking down at the human, physically and metaphorically. “who are you, exactly?” That's enough for them to get the clue. The mortal shuts up and walks away. 

Humanity, even after all this time, after all the changes, after all the new technologies, still fear the gods. It only changed form. It’s more subtle now. It’s the fear of missing out, of rejection, of failing to impress those on top of the social pyramid. 

“That,” says a voice behind Dream. “was unbelievably cruel.” Dream recognises the voice. The accent, the dryness, the monotone are all very particular to a single person. “But also very in character, so I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

Behind Dream stands Prince George II: professional bastard, resident pretty boy and, perhaps, the only person in any event that is as bored of it all as Dream is. 

(They don’t know it yet, but the stars are singing that night: This is only the beginning. The beginning.  _ The beginning _ . They don’t know it yet but one day they’re gonna make history together.) 

Dream turns around. “As if you wouldn't do the exact same thing if you were in my place. ”

“I would, but when I do it it’s okay,” George says. “I'm too pretty for anyone to think I was rude.”

Dream can’t exactly say he’s wrong. In a slightly shimmery navy blue suit, a white button up and a weird fancy high-tech clip invented in the past decade in his shirt collar, George looks as dashing as ever. The light red eyeshadow fits his mismatched eyes too well. He’s not wearing a crown. He doesn’t have to. Half royalty, half god, George is as popular as any immortal in the room. 

George may be an insufferable bitch but even Dream will admit he’s good-looking.

The joys of being a son of the Goddess of beauty. 

“You’re awfully arrogant,” Dream scoffs. 

“Takes one to know one,” George has the audacity to wink at him. Somehow, he still sounds bored. 

_ Dick _ . 

George is a puzzle. Dream’s sort of known about him since he was born- you can’t exactly miss the birth of the prince of the kingdom you live in- and trust me, he’s tried, but he was reclusive and mysterious until a few months ago, when he started attending the charity balls and award ceremonies and all the other bullshit modern high society does, nowadays. Every single time he’s managed to look and act completely bored, and he leaves half-way through every event, but he still comes to them, every single time. Dream’s been trying to figure him out. In less than a year, George got himself quite the reputation. Charming, intimidating, borderline cruel. It’s alright: Dream got a reputation himself, and it’s as bad as it comes.

“Are you gonna stare at me all night?” George asks, a single eyebrow raised.

This is an interesting breakthrough in his unraveling of the prince. The first proper conversation they’ve ever had, apart from introductions and polite “hellos”. He didn’t expect George to have so much energy in him, but Dream’s never been one to give up a fight.

Dream stares even harder. “I was wondering if you wanted to dance.” It’s not a question. Dream doesn’t ask questions. He only knows how to demand.

So George takes his hand. And leads him to the dance floor. For an outsider it might look romantic but they both are smart enough to know what this really is: two opponents, measuring each other up.

George is shorter than Dream, by quite a bit. He’s slimmer too, more regal and gentle than Dream. He’s built like a prince that’s never fought a physical battle in his life, probably because that’s what he is. (Dream has to remind himself that  _ most _ people haven’t fought physical battles nowadays. Most arguments are handled by wits, and those that aren’t are handled by laser guns.) 

Despite his physical weakness when compared to Dream, George dances like he was made for it. He flows through the motions and moves like he weighs nothing. Georges eyes are sharp though, accessing, like he’s remembering Dream’s moves, his strengths, his weaknesses. Dream bets George can see that, even though he has centuries of practice on him, George's movements still feel more natural. Dream decides then and there that he hates him. 

As the song ends and each of them go their separate ways, Dream can’t help but think  _ finally, a worthy opponent _ . For what? He isn’t quite sure. But it’s been a while since he’s had a good fight. 

The rest of the night is so forgettable, he doesn’t remember any other part of it the next day.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed it! next chapter coming soon, and then the plot will actually be introduced. didn’t wanna put too much of it in the beginning cause this is really just an introduction to the work and dream and george’s personalities.  
> you can follow me on tumblr: @fearwastaken


	2. Strike a Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream and George meet for a second time in a place neither of them expect to see each other: a crappy club on the bad side of town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: alcohol consumption.
> 
> this chapter is.. a lot longer than the other one. a lot happens.  
> half the clothes in this chapter were chosen by my friend sleep. blame him. 
> 
> also did i create an entire aesthetic? maybe so. yeah.

The second time they meet is not so regal and pleasant. It’s in a seedy club in a too dangerous neighbourhood. Dream’s there for the chaos and George is there to get laid. They’re looking for different highs to fulfill the same desire of  _ more, more, more. _

(The stars sing: they’re meant for the same purpose.)

Neither of them are supposed to be here. They’re too high on the social ladder to be anywhere near this place but clubs like these allow for thrills that nowhere acceptable does. 

Dream is on the dance floor. The music that is playing sounds barely human and the person playing it isn’t human. Androids do most of the work, nowadays. 

The people around him are wearing outfits that are too tight, too colourful,  _ too much _ . The woman besides him is wearing 4 different necklaces and earrings as big as his head. All of it is a different shade of neon. “*Glitterpunk,*” he remembers hearing a pretty girl whisper to him once in bed, after he asked her why everyone dressed like that “*the clothes of the people*”. 

He’s mastered the look, since. He now knows how to fit in, for a little. How to not look so out of place in front of these people. He even has green glitter on his cheeks. 

Dream does this whenever modern life gets too much. He’d rather not reveal how often that is. He knows he shouldn’t, but he does.

He goes into a place nobody would expect him to be and he looks for someone to insult, someone to punch, someone to argue with. It’s not like the person will have any chance of winning, but this is the only way Dream knows to let go now. He finds comfort in fighting, even after all this time. He might have been forced to give up on violence but violence has not given up on him.

Being a God of war has its impacts.

So he’s looking for a fight. So it’s dark and he’s dancing and he feels  _ invincible _ because he is. 

That’s when he sees  _ him _ . 

George is sitting next to the bar talking to a guy. He’s wearing a tight white mesh shirt and loose fitting jeans and an actual neon blue light up led belt, with bright red shoes. He looks ridiculous. He fits right in.  _ George knows what he’s doing too. _

The guy he’s talking to is half a foot taller than him and has bright pink hair and is wearing a horrendous orange shirt. He’s buying George a drink and leaning closer and closer. George is letting him. 

Prince George II, the most impassive person Dream’s ever met, is  _ flirting.  _

Dream feels like he should be much more surprised then he actually is but he could see that coming, somehow. It’s not like George is actively participating, anyways. He still looks as bored as ever, but he’s allowing it to happen. 

For him, that means  _ interest.  _

Dream turns away. What George does in his spare time is none of his business. 

  
  


-

  
  


As much as Dream tries to focus on his objective for the night, his eyes keep wandering to George and the stranger from earlier, who have been talking for over half an hour by now. The guy has his hand on George’s thigh. George has had multiple cups of whatever the fuck is the almost glowing blue drink he’s having. 

Modern war is different than the one he’s been used to. It's in a well placed insult, in a subtle jab that hits where it hurts, in having the right enemies and even more importantly the right friends. Dream would say he’s fantastic at it- being the God of Strategy and all.

That’s why Dream doesn't understand why he does what he does next. But he does do it. (That’s a lie: he does know. George is unimpressed by everything, and by the Gods if Dream doesn’t want to be the one thing that can impress him. Dream can’t stand not winning. But he’d never admit that, not even to himself.)

  
  


He walks towards George and the guy like he’s going to battle and picks up his weapons: in this case the biggest of smiles and the most excited voice he can muster. With them, he says. “Hey George! Didn’t expect to see you around here.”

It’s less loud here than the dance floor. Not so quiet that he doesn’t hear the music, but quiet enough that he doesn’t have to scream to be heard.

George turns his head slowly. Looks him up and down with a look that would have made any man lesser than Dream wilt and scurry away. “Well, I surely didn’t  _ want _ to see you today.”

Pink Hair is just looking in between them, trying to understand what’s happening. He removes the hand he had on George’s thigh.

“I can see everything with you wearing that shirt,” Dream’s tone is scathing. “It’s real trashy. I guess it fits the theme.” 

Pink hair’s eyes widen, like he’s just realised something. He slowly starts to retreat.

“Says the guy wearing lime green camo pants,” George points at his hands. “and also fingerless mesh neon green gloves.” 

Before Dream can respond, Pink Hair speaks up. “I just remembered something. I've got to go.”

And with that, it’s only George and Dream left.

  
  


“You just blew my chances with that guy, on purpose,” It’s a statement, not a question. Dream is annoyed- not at the accusation, he did do it on purpose- no, he’s annoyed that George said it so monotone. Not even a bit of emotion. No anger, no surprise, nothing. Just George and his complete lack of care. And a bit of slurring- George had enough drinks to be just past tipsy.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dream says. He had his eyes all on George when the guy was around but now that he’s left, Dream’s not even looking at George anymore. He hopes it annoys him. Getting anything out of him is its own form of battle by now- and Dream needs to win. 

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Dream looks back and George is sipping on his drink, unbothered. Dream is reminded of why he hates him. 

“Yes,” Dream smirks. “yes I do.”

That gets a reaction- however small it is. A quick pointed look, a slight eyebrow raise, something more than an uninterested look.  _ Finally _ , Dream thinks.  _ Finally proof that he’s alive. _

  
  


Dream puts on his most innocent face, and his most confused voice and says “I simply don’t understand how I could have ever ruined your chances with him when all I did was walk towards you and have the quickest of chats.”

George’s grip on his cup tightens the tiniest bit.

“You’re a God, Dream. Nobody wants to fuck a God’s bussiness,” George sounds almost bitter. “It never ends well.”

Dream never learnt how to stop- he never had to- so he keeps pushing.

“How would he even know I was a God, anyways?” 

“Your face is plastered all over the city,” George's face is deadpan again, as is his voice.

Dream wonders where he went wrong. Probably with the question, bypassing naive and entering straight up stupid. His face  _ is _ projected in a lot of buildings. 

Dream is about to defend his intelligence when George keeps talking. “Besides, even if he didn’t know who  _ you _ were specifically, it’s still so obvious you’re a God.”

It’s Dream’s turn to feel indignation. “What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?”

“You live like you’ve never known the taste of fear. Only the invincible are presumptuous enough to carry themselves like that.” 

Dream wonders how anyone could say something like  _ that _ and still look so uninterested in the conversation. 

“Well by your logic, he also knew who  _ you _ were. It’s not like your face is more avoidable than mine,”  _ And trust me, I’ve tried. It’s like George is inescapable. _

“You do think I’m stupid,” George is back to borderline offended, and it makes the corner of Dream’s lips turn up a bit. If the only emotion he can get out of George is “insulted” then he’ll stick with what he can get. 

“I really do.” 

George chooses to ignore that comment. “Of course he knew who I was. Why do you think he came up to me in the first place?” 

Dream could think of multiple reasons. How George looked in that see through shirt, the way his lips- they’re painted red, he’s wearing red lipstick- wrapped around the straw, how nice he looked under the bright neon lights.  _ Stunning, beautiful, magical. _

In that regard, George takes after his mother. Dream knows for a fact the king is none of those. 

George continues talking, as if Dream wasn’t having an entire internal monologue. Very rude of him to interrupt. “To brag, of course.”

Dream wants to laugh so hard. “To  _ brag _ ? And you were just gonna let a  _ human _ use you, just like that?”

Dream can’t imagine giving anyone even an ounce of power over him, much less a mere human. 

“Oh, so  _ you’re _ the idiot,” George says. He puts his cup down on the bar and doesn’t bother turning back around to look at Dream.

Dream’s insulted, to say the least.  _ Who does this guy think he is, talking to a God like this? _

“He wasn’t using me any more than I was using him. You see,” George waves down the android making drinks and asks for another of whatever he was drinking. He now turns back to Dream. “I was using him for pleasure, he was using me to go up the social ladder. In the end though, I still win. I get sex, and he gets to look insane in front of his friends when he says he slept with the prince.”

That makes Dream laugh. Actually laugh. George is staring him up and down, his neutral displeasure clear on his face.

“I mean it,” George keeps going, now clearly on a roll. “Who’s gonna believe him when he says he met the crown prince in a shit club on the bad side of town and had sex with him? Nobody. Why would I even come to a place like this? It sounds like a poorly made lie.” 

Dream can’t stop laughing. He’s wheezing by now. George is  _ not  _ allowed to be this funny without even trying. He’s trying to win, and George making him laugh is certainly a loss for him, considering he hasn’t even managed to make him crack half a smile.

“That’s so unbelievably cruel,” Dream composes himself enough to say. “But also very in character, so I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

“Haha. Stealing my own fucking words. Very funny,” 

The lack of humour in George’s voice makes Dream laugh again. George stands there, unimpressed, sipping his new neon blue drink, just watching Dream bend over with laughter. 

Suddenly, George speaks. “You’re paying my bill, by the way.”

Dream’s not laughing anymore. “What?”

“You scared away my provider for the night, so you’re paying for the drinks.”

Dream’s eyebrows are pulled together in confusion. “You’re a prince. You’re filthy rich. You can pay for your own drinks.”

“I  _ could _ pay for them,” George takes the final sip.  _ By the Gods does he go through them quick _ , Dream thinks. “But I won’t. Last I checked, you were rich too, Dream.”

He has the audacity to ask for another drink before Dream can even process what’s happening. George tells the android to bill Dream for it. Dream can feel his wrist vibrate with the notification that he’s now being charged. 

“What's even in those?” Dream checks the message he got. Apparently George has drunk 8 of them in the last hour. How he’s still even standing, Dream has no clue. 

“Anything you want it to be. You’d like it, I think,” George says. “They’re called  _ Heaven _ .”

Dream doesn’t know if it’s an insult, or a compliment.

_ Heaven _ is not a privilege Gods get. George knows this. People like him don’t get endings. He decides he doesn’t care and that he is gonna be insulted anyways.

“What are you even doing in a place like this?” Anger seeps into Dream’s voice.

Another sip. “I could ask you the same.” 

Dream does a noise that is halfway between annoyed and indignated.

“Actually, I don’t care,” George says before Dream can answer him. “I’m leaving now, you ruined enough of my fun.” 

George stands up from his seat and starts walking off. Rude.

  
  


-

  
  


Half an hour later, Dream is more stressed than he was when he walked into the club. 

He was strung tight after his encounter with George and he got even tighter when he realised nobody wants to fight. This is absurd. How come he walks into a shitty place actively trying to argue and nobody bites the bait. He tried. He tried and nobody did anything. 

Dream would never admit it, but George was right. He’s too recognizable, now. Nobody wants to bother a God. 

_ That’s bullshit _ . 

He grabs his leather jacket at the door and as he walks out, he finds there sitting in the sidewalk, besides the cans and the couples making out, Prince George, his knees pulled up to his chest, elbow on knee, chin in hand. He’s wearing a metallic blue bomber jacket with white details and red sleeves that he wasn’t before. He has white glasses on. He’s shivering a bit. 

“What are you still doing here?” 

George looks at him like he’s stupid. That’s quickly become a common occurrence. Dream isn’t even playing dumb this time. “Well,  _ someone _ scared my ride off.”

Dream has razed cities before. A little bastard prince is  _ not _ making Dream feel guilty.

“You're a prince. You can just order someone to come pick you up.” Dream says, like it’s obvious, cause it is.

“Cause I certainly want everyone to know I was here,” George’s ‘are you an idiot?’ look gets even meaner. “Why don’t you call the paparazzi while you’re at it?”

George stands up. Comes a bit closer. “I can already imagine the headlines of tomorrow’s biggest celebrity websites: ‘Prince George found drinking his problems away’,” His eyes narrow. “When they do, I’ll be sure to tell them about  _ your _ appearance here too.” 

_ Threatening _ . Of course.

The silence wears on for a minute before Dream sighs. “I’ve got a room in a hotel 15 minutes from here. It’s much more respectable than this place. They are very discreet about their guests. You can stay there until tomorrow when you can call for a ride without it being suspicious.”

He turns around, walks off and hears George following him. He’s sure George looks smug right now, or as smug as he gets. 

George keeps winning tonight.

When they get to where Dream’s parked, George sighs. And not in a good way.

“Of course you own one of those motorcycles.” He says as Dream hands him the helmet. 

Dream raises his eyebrow. What in the  _ fuck _ is  _ that _ supposed to mean?

“It’s expensive. Shows everyone you’ve got money,” His bike costs an absurd amount of money. It's the best in the market. It’s so fast it looks like a blur when riding it. “It’s unique. Shows you’re ‘different’,” George has the audacity to do air quotes. He’s not wrong, though. Dream was never a car kinda guy. “And it’s flashy.” 

George means it all as an insult, Dream is sure, but it feels more like a compliment.

His bike is black with transparent accents that light up green when it’s moving. It leaves a trail of light behind. If nothing else, it draws attention in a city where everything is so bright all the time. Dream loves her. Calls her “Smiley”. 

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Dream was downplaying it when he described the hotel as “respectable”. It’s- well, it’s fitting for a God. 

The outside fits the rest of the city. Metal walls, bright purple neon lights, big led letters displaying its name: Sleepless Stars. Dream bets George had never heard of that name before. Or even paid much attention to the building itself. It’s near the center of the city but it blends in so well with the middle class housing buildings and the offices that most people never cared to know what the place really was. 

(The stars sing: One day, this place will feel like  _ home _ the way no palace ever did.) 

When you come inside, however, it’s like you’ve stepped into a different dimension. The entire place is decorated in whites, the way the upper class prefers it nowadays. The poor like colour and shimmer. They like music loud enough to make them forget their problems. The rich like to keep it simple. Clean. Silent. 

Dream doesn’t like either much, but he will always prefer  _ something _ over  _ nothing _ .

The hotel is all white. There’s a waterfall in the reception, falling down from the penthouse till the ground floor. It’s almost 2 thousand feet high. The sort of thing that wouldn’t be possible without modern technology. By logic, the waterfall should be loud, but it’s gentle. Almost a drizzle. 

All the androids that work there are gentle and unassuming. They always have a small smile on their face and the tallest of them barely reaches George’s shoulder. They’re meant to be complacent and kind. 

Dream wants to bash their head in.

The whole place is supposed to be calming. A break from the bombarding of colours and information that is all over the city. It’s why the upper class even adopted the all white aesthetic in the first place. But Dream thinks it lacks life, it lacks soul. It makes him want to scream cause it feels so  _ dead.  _ And humanities vivacity was the one thing he envied mortals for. Now there’s nothing left.

Glitterpunk may be trashy but at least it has heart.

The ride up the elevator is silent.

George is swaying a bit. Seems like  _ Heaven _ is finally catching up to him. 

Dream was downplaying it when he said he had a room in the hotel. He has the entire penthouse.

It is decorated with mostly whites and greys but there's the lavender cushion on the couch, and the blue wallpaper in the main room and other small little details with a bit more  _ life _ . 

He’s the one that had the hotel change it. Dream likes it a bit better this way.

“Where did you even find a place like this?” George’s eyes pass by the kitchen, the dining room, the city view. The luxury isn’t the part that’s surprising. The surprise is that there’s somewhere this fancy in a middle class neighborhood.

Dream drops his jacket on the couch. He shrugs. “A friend recommended it to me.” 

George walks around the place and Dream can see him stare at the balcony. It’s understandable why he would. The balcony itself has the water coming out of the floor, making the waterfall they saw at the reception. It’s stunning. 

Dream snaps him out of his ogling. “You’ll sleep on the couch.”

George says something about this being how Dream treats royalty- only to be a bitch but Dream chooses to ignore it. If he didn’t he’d probably slap him. Dream is still pretty pissed. 

Instead of giving George more to be a dick about, Dream leads him into his bedroom to get him more comfortable clothes to wear to sleep. Dream may think he’s insufferable and he may have threatened his way into a stay here but Dream is not a bad host. 

“Aw. You won’t give me the bed? Afraid a certain redheaded immortal will take it the wrong way?”

George has been poking fun and throwing insults all night long. Dream was already angry 5 hours ago when he walked into the club. Now? When it’s late and he’s tired and he didn’t get his rage out? Now George hits a nerve and Dream doesn’t have the patience to ignore it. 

George doesn’t even know what he’s talking about. What Dream and- and his ex had is none of George, or anyones, for that matter, business.

So if he turns around and shoves George against the wall, you can’t even say he’s not justified. 

A gasp comes out of George’s mouth, an eyebrow is lifted. The most emotion he’s shown so far. Still, he only seems surprised, not particularly threatened.

“You,” A finger is shoved into George’s face. “shut up.”

This close up Dream can see the blue glitter eyeliner on George’s mismatched eyes. It looks just the right side of smudged.  _ Trashy, but make it pretty _ .

George looks down at the finger. Looks back up to Dreams eyes. “If you’re gonna touch me like that.” George grabs Dream's hand and gently pushes it away. “At least buy me a drink, first.”

Dream realises just how close they are together. George isn’t scared, and he’s looking at Dream and he still looks bored but the way he’s cocking his head looks like he’s considering something he wasn’t before.

Dream backs up. Takes a few steps backwards. “I  _ have _ bought you a drink, George.” 

He grabs George a shirt to wear in his closet. It’s plain and white like the one Dream has on right now. 

He turns around and throws George the shirt. George is still staring. 

“George I'm not gonna sleep with you.” It’s a phrase Dream did not think he was gonna have to say today, but here he is.

“I’m not saying you should. I don't even want to, particularly. I dislike you as much as you dislike me. But..” George takes off his jacket.

Dream crosses his arms. “But?”

George starts taking off his shirt. Not like it covered up much anyways. “But you’re not exactly sore on the eyes and I know  _ you _ want  _ me _ .” 

George is a little conceited bitch.

He says it like a fact he had no doubt in. Something he was sure of. Like the sky being blue or Gods being immortal. 

And he wasn’t wrong, but still.

“Arrogant much?”

George starts putting Dream’s shirt on. “It’s not arrogance. It’s honesty,” He puts the last arm in. Makes direct eye contact. “Desire is kinda my thing.”

His mother’s son he surely is. 

“I can see it in the way you look at me,” George leans into the wall, this time voluntarily. “The way most people look at me.” 

_ That _ is arrogance. 

George keeps talking.“The same way I can hear your voice or feel the fabric of your shirt on my skin. I don't even have to try.”

Magic is a wonderful,  _ wonderful _ thing that no amount of technology will ever be able to recreate.

George takes off his trousers. Slides down the wall. Sits on the floor. 

He really has no shame. He just changed in front of Dream like it meant nothing.

Dream slowly moves forward. Sits down on the floor in front of George, leaning against the bed.

“Are you  _ trying _ to start a scandal?” Dream sounds baffled but really he’s enthralled. He’d love to cause a scandal, as long as he had control over it. “Cause that’s what sleeping with me would do.”

“Consider the place you found me in tonight.” George is once again looking at Dream like he’s stupid. The interest has fully died out by now. “What do you think I was trying to accomplish, exactly?”

“We can do it, you know,” Dream leans a bit closer. “Cause a scandal.”

“You think I’m an arrogant bastard with too much time on my hands and I think you’re a selfish prick with a superiority complex,” George pushes Dream lightly so that he’s resting back against the bed. “We would never date.”

Dream leans his head back this time and rests it against his mattress. “It’s not like any of the media knows that.” 

Dream tilts his head a bit, looks at George again. “And I mean, why stop at dating? If we’re gonna cause a scandal we should do it properly.”

George’s ‘you're an idiot’ look intensifies. He still gives Dream the attention he wants. “What do you consider a ‘proper’ scandal?” 

George seems to only do air quotes when it’s to be mean to Dream.

“Usurping the throne, perhaps.” Dream says it like it means nothing. With a shrug.

“ _ Perhaps _ ?” George looks almost.. amused? at the suggestion. Dream didn’t know he could do that.

“Yeah, George.” Dream smirks. “Good old political coup. It’s not like I’ve never done it before. I’d say I’m quite good at them, if you’ll let me brag.” 

It has been a while since he’s done them but he used to be good at it. He used to be the best.

With modernity came the lack of involvement of Gods in things such as politics. It came with the direct disencouragement of any godly participation in any major historical events. It came with an eternity of boredom.

George seems to think for a second. “I would look nice on a throne. With a crown.”

Dream eggs him on. “King George has a nice ring to it.”

“It does,” George stands up, it startles Dream a bit. He was having maybe a bit too much fun with the idea. “It’s a nice fantasy, Dream.” 

George starts gathering his clothes into his hands. “But we both know things are different now than when you were young.”

George walks towards the door that leads to the main area. Before he walks out fully, he turns his head and says. “Besides, a political coup would involve my father’s death and patricide has been out of style for centuries. I’d rather be caught dead than out of fashion.”

And so George goes to sleep on the sofa and leaves Dream alone with his thoughts and his fantasies.

As Dream is getting ready for bed, he keeps thinking about how George managed to win every single little battle they had today. 

His last thought before he falls asleep is how much he hates one Prince George.

  
  


-

Dream wakes up the next day with the sun in his face. Brushes his teeth. Starts to walk out of his room. All normal things. 

Until he sees the Crown Prince, wearing last night's clothes, standing in his living room. 

Dream is still rubbing his eyes. He’s pretty sure sometime last night George must have washed his face or something, cause he has no makeup left. Dream would know if he had. Red lipstick on George is pretty unmistakable. 

Dream leans against his doorframe. “Too busy thinking about last night's proposal to leave before I’m awake?”

“I was just about to leave,” George, who had stopped moving when he saw Dream, says. “Besides, I meant it. It’s a nice fantasy, but nothing else.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Dream was joking last night but he isn’t anymore. “I mean we can have an entire contract going. Decide all the details so that it’s to both our likings.”

“What would you even get out of making me king?” 

_ What does he get out of it? _ He gets a taste of what he once used to be. Of the life he became immortal for. He gets to have  _ something _ more in his life than emptiness. A plan to steal the crown successfully out of a decently liked king? That sure is  _ something _ . Something good enough to make him remember what it felt like to be  _ alive. _

Dream doesn’t say that. Instead he shrugs and says. “I get to use my magic the way it was meant to be used.”

“You,” George quirks an eyebrow “get your glory back, but what do  _ I _ get?”

George wouldn’t strike a deal unless there was something in it for him, of course.

“You get to be king,” Dream says like it’s obvious, 

cause it is.

George gets up from the bed and starts searching for his things. “That’s bound to happen sooner or later. A few years more, a few years less, what does it matter?”

“You get a God’s protection for the rest of your life?” Dream says.

George finds his jacket on the floor and puts it on.

He keeps walking around the room.

“I could get protection from an arsehole I barely know,” George stops searching for a second and looks directly at Dream. “or, I could just call mum.” 

No need to treat Dream like he’s stupid.

“You can get rid of your father. It’s not necessary but I can manage it. Some good old patricide.” As far as Dream knows, the King is not a particularly good man. As far as Dream knows, he’s no better as a father.

“That would have been an intriguing proposition when I was 14,” George finds his glasses and slides them up his hair. “Not so much at 24.” 

He’s running out of time to convince George. He’s found everything he needs to leave. As a last resort, Dream says. “You’d get some entertainment out of it,” That makes George pause for a second before he keeps moving. It’s not the reaction you’d expect out of most interested people but Dream’s learnt pretty quickly that George’s reactions are subtle. He’s a person you’ve gotta pay close attention to. Dream continues speaking. “You’d have something more to do everyday than just look pretty and talk to people about banalities. You’d actually get to use that brain of yours, for a change.” 

George has full on stopped by now, glasses in his head, no longer moving towards the exit. Dream’s got his ears.

“You wouldn’t have to be so bored all the time anymore, George.” Dream means it like a  _ promise _ .

It feels like hours before George takes a deep breath and swipes something on his wrist. Dream can hear the notification ping in his own arm. He got George’s contact.

“You got yourself a deal, Dream,” George says, impassive as ever. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Dream has a smile on his face as George leaves the hotel room.

The last- and most important-win is Dream’s . 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream: does anything  
> George: 😐
> 
> also:
> 
> Dream: pushes george against a wall  
> George: 👀  
> (sleep also came up with the idea for that scene so maybe you can forgive them for the clothes)


End file.
